


the subtle art of slowly falling

by uberwaldian_connection



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Freeform, Friends to Lovers, Minor Canonical Character(s), Pre-Canon, does it count as slow burn if it spans over 14 years?? you tell me, it's not an AU if you barely know what happened, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23130856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uberwaldian_connection/pseuds/uberwaldian_connection
Summary: A possible AU retelling of what had happened before Pavetta's betrothal feast. In which they were allies before they became friends, and friends long before they became lovers.or,Eist and Calanthe take the long and winding path to romance.
Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach
Comments: 24
Kudos: 66





	the subtle art of slowly falling

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a short one-shot. I snapped out of it about two weeks and 11k later.  
> I don't publish a lot of my fics, but I thought it was time to give something back to this wonderful fandom. Also, I feel we all need a bit of cheering up (both right now and, you know, in general). I do hope you'll like it :)

It seemed that half the Continent had descended upon Cintra to celebrate princess Pavetta’s first year. The capital was packed with people – a colourful, cheerful crowd, drunkenly stumbling on its way through the narrow streets. A part of Eist found it amusing. Another, much more dominant part of him longed for the moment when he would be allowed to leave the city and get back onto his ship.

“Don’t even think about running away, brother,” Bran warned him and adjusted the silver brooch that kept his royal shawl in place. “You will go there and get introduced to the king and queen.”

Eist nodded, but didn’t bother with a reply.

“And I promise, I will keep you out of politics as much as I can,” Bran said, and Eist didn’t turn to look at him, but could just about imagine his brother rolling his eyes. “Besides, Cintra is our friend and closest ally. I need someone I can trust to keep the _status quo_ of this relationship. And there is no one better suited to the task than you.”

At that, Eist had to chuckle.

“You really have gotten proficient at lying through your teeth, brother,” he said, good-naturedly. “But do not fret. I would not dream of disobeying you. I promise I will tend to my duties as a liaison between Cintra and Skellige to the best of my abilities,” he added, mimicking Bran’s serious manner of expression.

Bran only grunted in response, but Eist noticed the small smile that he tried to hide behind his beard.

They made their way into the castle in companionable silence. The throne room was filled to the brim with people, and it was not a crowd inclined to part before royalty. Not at their current state, anyway. Bran and Eist had to use their elbows to make their way to their table, where they sat and promptly swore to never get up again, lest they would get trampled.

While they were waiting for the official part of the banquet to start, Eist entertained himself with looking at the royal family. There was king Roegner, tall and handsome, with his blonde hair and square jaw making him look like a true archetype of royalty. There was queen Calanthe, young, dark-haired and quite striking in her own, slightly threatening way. Eist had a distinct feeling that she would be definitely more threatening were she not holding her child in her arms. As it were, she was currently smiling at the babe sat in her lap. The princess was looking up at her father, who was in the middle of spinning an animated story that she seemed to listen to with fascination.

“Don’t be fooled,” Bran advised when he noticed Eist’s look. “They might look like a picture of domestic bliss, but I have seen them both in battle. He is a competent warrior; she is as skilled as she is ruthless. And everyone knows it’s queen Calanthe you really have to watch for.”

Eist hummed. Queen Calanthe’s reputation had indeed preceded her – not only as a skilled warrior, but also as a queen with a distinct appetite for power that king Roegner seemed to be happy enough to share with her.

Eventually the banquet progressed and the gathered guests approached the royal couple to bestow their blessings and best wishes upon their daughter. Bran and Eist brought her a gift – a beautifully made ship in a bottle, a replica of the most impressive Skelligean vessel still in use. It wasn’t very practical, but Eist figured a princess already had all the practical things a child could possibly need.

Slowly, making use of their sharp elbows, they tore through the crowd and reached the royal couple.

“Your Majesties,” Bran said, and both brothers made a deep bow. “May I present my younger brother, Eist Tuirseach, my newly appointed counsel.”

Eist straightened and looked briefly at the king and then, slightly longer, at the queen. King Roegner nodded and smiled pleasantly. The queen spoke.

“Jarl Tuirseach,” she said in a tone that was hard to decipher. “It is a great pleasure to finally be able to match the face to the stories. I have heard of your sea conquests.”

Eist wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to say to that, so he decided to go for a frontal attack.

“And I have heard about your numerous victories in battles, Your Majesty. It’s an honour to finally be able to meet the warrior behind the catchy ballad.”

A corner of the queen’s eye twitched, but she quickly covered her reaction with a pleasant but businesslike smile.

“And what gifts do you bring our daughter?” King Roegner stepped in. Smiling, he gestured towards the bottle in Bran’s hands.

Bran passed him the gift, and Roegner turned to his daughter and exclaimed, “Oh, look, Pavetta, it’s a ship! Look how many sails it has!”

The princess seemed reasonably impressed – as much as one can expect from a child of one who is probably overwhelmed by the whole gathering, anyway. Queen Calanthe gave Bran an appreciative smile.

“Thank you,” she said, and it sounded relatively sincere. “It’s a beautiful gift, that’s very kind of you.”

“The pleasure is ours,” Bran assured her, and then it was time for them to move and make place for the next delegation in line.

Once they sat by the table again, Bran poured himself a goblet of wine and turned to Eist.

“What do you think, brother? Will you manage with the heavy burden of boring diplomacy?”

“We shall see,” Eist responded and shifted his attention to the chicken leg on the plate in front of him. “In any case, it’s bound to be a hundred times more interesting than that year you made me spend in Kovir...”

Bran laughed.

“Well, I hope you’ll enjoy it at least a bit. And besides, it’s Cintra,” he added with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “As long as you don’t pull out your sword and challenge the queen in front of her court, I think we should be fine.”

  
  


*

  
  


It just so unfortunately happened that he was officially visiting Cintra at the behest of his king when the news of an uprising at the eastern border reached the city. King Roegner was called on immediately, and it came as no surprise that queen Calanthe decided to follow her husband, despite the latter’s protests. It was a mystery, however, how Eist suddenly, and without much thinking, decided to volunteer to aid king Roegner and fight at his side.

The king looked at him for a long moment. If Eist hadn’t been so well trained in looking for a smallest sign of a change of weather on a clear blue sky, he might have missed the way the king’s eyes flickered to queen Calanthe’s face before he nodded his agreement.

“We should thank the gods for having such allies,” he said. “Still, Jarl Tuirseach, I cannot ask you to follow with me to the front lines. Will you stay in the camp and protect our backs when we are most vulnerable?”

Eist had a vague feeling that this was some kind of a test, but at the same time, he did not have the impression that Roegner doubted his battle skills. So he just bowed slightly and said,

“I will do whatever you request me to do, Your Majesty.”

And that was how three days later Eist found himself en route to a hastily assembled camp in the Cintrian countryside. If it weren’t for the threat of injury and death looming over them, he might have enjoyed the vast emptiness of golden fields, the green abundance of old, green forests, and the subtle ways in which one landscape melted into the other as they rode eastwards. The king and queen were at the front, and he followed at a reasonable distance. While he was perfectly content observing the horizon, his gaze often flickered towards the couple, who for most of the journey seemed to be engrossed in a serious conversation.

They reached the camp in the late afternoon, just before nightfall. Almost immediately the king and queen rushed into general Murdock’s tent to learn the most recent news and consult battle plans, and Eist had been invited to follow them.

“They have been growing bolder and bolder, Your Majesty,” General Murdock spoke, and it wasn’t clear from either his tone or posture which part of the royal duo he was addressing. “After they’ve caught our patrol by surprise and killed our men, they think themselves invincible. They’ve been provoking us, sending fire arrows, sneaking into our camp, trying to steal weapons and food. We’ve caught them, of course, but if I can speak frankly with you, I’d wager they have become reckless.”

“We can use that to our advantage,” Queen Calanthe murmured, inspecting the map laid out on the table in front of her. “Foolish bravery does not make for a disciplined army.”

King Roegner was quick to announce that they would attack just before dawn, to surprise the enemy. Eist knew he should use the night wisely and sleep as long as the time allowed, but he could not force himself to fall asleep. Instead, he watched the night sky, dozing off for a few moments here and there, until the velvet black sky slowly turned to indigo, and then grey.

Eist got dressed and went to find the king. He was already sitting on a horse, surrounded by his men, dressed in armour and ready for battle. His queen, however, was not. She wore the same travel clothes as she had the day before, and she stood at some distance to the king, with her arms crossed across her chest and a solemn, calculating look on her face. Eist bowed to her and she nodded, but didn’t take her eyes off her husband.

Eist stood next to her, trying not to let his surprise show on his face. His inquisitive looks must have not been that discreet, however, because the queen scoffed and said to him,

“Speak your mind, Jarl Tuirseach, and stop glancing at me as if I were some curious, three-headed animal.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he replied. “I had just assumed that you would be riding out with the king. That was presumptuous of me.”

The queen drew a sharp breath, but didn’t disagree.

“I understand your surprise. I, too, would be glad to fight alongside my husband. Alas, we agreed it would be for the best if I waited this battle out.”

Eist didn’t know how to respond to that, and the usual “I see” or its even worse bastard cousin “Oh?” seemed pathetically inappropriate. Eventually he settled for a low hum that could be interpreted as just about anything.

It seemed that the queen wasn’t satisfied with this response, because she turned to him and looked him directly in the eye, which was impressive, considering she was shorter than him. The look she served him could turn a man into stone. In more ways than one.

“I am with child,” she said, curtly. Eist blinked. “I would do a lot to protect my country and uphold my reputation, but there are things I will not risk.”

“That’s commendable of you,” Eist said before he could stop himself, and as it slipped out, he felt that he had to continue. “A truly wise warrior knows not only when to draw the sword, but also when not to draw it and make place for others.”

Internally, he winced at how patronising he sounded – and to a queen of a foreign land, who not only outranked him, but could probably murder him in his sleep, no less – but Calanthe didn’t seem offended. She stared at him with her eyes narrowed for long enough to make sure he meant no disrespect.

Slowly, she relaxed, and Eist felt it was safe for him to breathe again.

“Also, I understand congratulations are in order,” he said with a smile, and the queen rolled her eyes.

“If you speak one word about it to anyone before we officially announce it, I will have you hanged by the balls,” she informed him, and Eist desperately tried to think of something else to force the vision out of his mind.

The queen must have noticed, because she suddenly flashed him a tight-lipped smile.

“You know, Jarl Tuirseach,” she said airily before turning on her heel and heading back into the camp, “I have a feeling you and I are going to get along just fine.”

  
  


*

  
  


King Roegner won the battle before the twelfth bell struck, and eagerly returned to his men and, more importantly, to the arms of his waiting wife. Eist, who, truth be told, wasn’t left with much to do, was surprised by the flood of gratitude he received from the king. Even Bran, upon having learned about all of this a few days later, was surprised both by his brother’s actions, and king Roegner’s generous trade deals that Eist brought home to Skellige.

Eist did not feel the need to share queen Calanthe’s secret with anyone, his brother notwithstanding, and it was probably for the best, as a few months passed and it became clear that there will be no heir to Cintra, at least not in the immediate future.

*

  
  


Eist spent the next few years travelling between the Isles and along the coast, and returned to Cintra just in time to attend king Roegner’s funeral. The city had changed a lot since his last visit – the results of the plague, no doubt. The outbreak seemed to have passed, and the city was slowly recovering, but it was still dark, and empty, and unwelcoming.

The funeral was, well, like a funeral. It was solemn, and formal, and sad. Princess Pavetta couldn’t stop crying throughout the ceremony, despite her mother’s warning shushes.

Eist stood a bit to the side, away from the main crowd, which allowed him a good view of the queen. She was covered in black, which only seemed to accentuate her already pale skin, but there was something in her face that caught his eye. It was not despair, nor sadness, the typical emotions he would expect to find upon the features of a recent widow. No, she looked… angry?

They burned the king’s body, both due to the plague and out of respect for some long-lasting Ebbinger tradition. Eist had witnessed a burial like this a few times – it was not a pretty view. But queen Calanthe didn’t move when they lit her husband’s remains on fire, did not flinch when the flames slowly consumed what was left of him. She stared straight into the fire, her mouth set in a thin line, until all that remained of king Roegner became ash.

Then there was a gathering. The only difference between it and a typical feast was the lack of music and crude jokes, and the latter seemed to last just until the guests emptied a few barrels of beer. Princess Pavetta had been sent off to bed, but queen Calanthe was there, majestic and alone at the high table. It didn’t go unnoticed by Eist that she took place on the throne.

As the drunken shenanigans progressed, Eist became more and more displeased with the crowd, and finally managed to sneak away for some fresh air. It was very cold, and he shivered, pulling his woollen coat tighter around himself. He realized it was probably the harsh winter that stopped the plague, and he wondered if things would get better, come spring.

He was lost in his thoughts and almost bumped into the person standing at the end of the narrow path, on a small terrace overlooking the garden and the city below it. He apologized, and when the person turned towards him and removed the hood of their cloak, he realized it was queen Calanthe.

It was hard to see in the darkness surrounding them, but it seemed as if she had been standing there for some time now. The moonlight shone in her face and Eist noticed her dark eyes staring at him. If it weren’t for the fact that this was her husband’s funeral, he would think she was quite beautiful.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” he finally said when it became clear she was not going to speak. “I can go...”

She just raised her hand to shush him. She was not wearing gloves and he briefly wondered if she was cold. He, who was raised in the Isles and was used to the low temperatures, stood there, shivering, while Calanthe was still as a statue.

“You can stay,” she finally said in a flat voice and turned her face away from him. “As long as you’re not going to recite tearful poems about my late husband’s bravery and wisdom, we should be fine.”

“I… would not even know how to do that,” Eist carefully said and she snorted.

“Good. That makes two of us.”

A silence fell between them.

“I am sorry for your loss, though. Truly. King Roegner was a good man.”

The queen muttered something under her breath, but Eist pretended not to hear it.

“And how is your daughter taking it?”

That finally caught the queen’s attention. She turned to him and her mask slipped for a moment. Her lip quivered. Eist wished he could at least squeeze her arm in comfort, but that wouldn’t be appropriate.

“She is devastated, of course,” the queen said after a while, her voice strained. “Both by the loss of her beloved father and by the thought that my advisors have already managed to plant in her head, that within a year, I will take a new husband and present the kingdom with a new king.”

“And will you do that?” Eist asked in a voice so quiet that she could easily pretend she didn’t hear the question.

But Calanthe shook her head.

“No,” she said, vehemently. “I will not. For as long as I can. I swear as you are my witness.”

“I believe you,” he said without hesitation, because it was true.

She turned to face him fully, then, and stared into his eyes with such intensity that Eist’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t dare move, sure that if he did, he would do something he would come to regret. But his eyes roamed across her face, registering the tension in her jaw, the dark circles under her eyes, her lips, chipped from the cold…

An owl hooted in the distance and they almost jumped. Whatever strange spell came over them a moment ago was now broken, and they both turned their faces away.

“We should get inside,” the queen finally said. “You must be cold.”

It wasn’t really a question, so Eist only grunted in response. Quickly they made their way back into the throne hall, where the queen took one look at the drunken crowd before her and turned on her heel.

“It’s high time for me to retire for the evening,” she said. “Otherwise, I’m sure I will punch someone, and that would by highly indecorous. Good night, Jarl Tuirseach.”

She didn’t even wait for his reply before passing him by and moving towards the stairs. Eist was left standing in the hall as he watched her leave, his mind carefully blank.

  
  


*

  
  


He came back to Cintra a few times that year, always making sure to have an official reason. If Bran was surprised at this sudden interest his brother took in diplomatic duties, he did not let it show.

If queen Calanthe was surprised at Eist’s sudden interest in his diplomatic duties, she made sure not to show it as well.

There was nothing remarkable to be said about those visits – they were, after all, thoroughly professional and diplomatic. If the talks Eist held with the queen sometimes wandered off towards his latest sea voyage or her tales of her battles, both literal and figurative, they were both willing to write them off as nothing more than expenses going towards the tightening of the diplomatic bonds between Skellige and Cintra.

It quickly become apparent to Eist that Calanthe found her place as a sole ruler of Cintra, and the vow he witnessed during her husband’s funeral still rang in his ears. She would not jeopardize her position by marrying the first dim-witted nobleman that asked for her hand. Still, he could not help the strange feeling that he recognized as anxiousness pooling in his stomach when the anniversary of king Roegner’s passing rolled around. The date marked the end of the queen’s mourning, and he was sure that whatever relative peace Calanthe might have enjoyed throughout the year, it was bound to end now.

He’d asked her about this, once, when they were taking a walk in the gardens, away from prying eyes.

“And for how long are you planning to fend the suitors off?”

“Hopefully, for at least a couple of years more,” Calanthe said and looked at the busy town at her feet. “Until Pavetta marries someone I will pick for her, and becomes queen. Then I’ll be able to reconsider my options.”

“And what options do you consider? Diplomatic corps? Retiring to the countryside? Marriage? For love?”

She actually scoffed.

“Unlikely, but who knows? I might also jump aboard a ship and sail somewhere away, where no one will find me. I haven’t decided yet.”

“And if someone catches your eye at the upcoming feast?” he teased. “Will you take a dashing husband and share your crown?”

She looked at him and smiled sweetly.

“Tuirseach,” she said in a syrupy voice, “there is no chance in hell of that happening.”

  
  


*

  
  


The anniversary of the king’s death more or less (less) coincided with the annual harvest festival, and Eist had received an invitation to the event. He arrived early, but was surprised to be granted an audience with the queen.

“I was sure you were going to be busy,” he said and helped himself to some light ale.

They had dropped the formalities a few months back, during a read-through of a very long and boring trade agreement. The queen had said, “you don’t have to call me ‘Your Majesty’ in each sentence, you know”. And Eist had said, “what should I call you, then?”, and the queen had shrugged and said, “Calanthe’s fine, but only when you’re sure no one else can hear you”.

“I am busy,” Calanthe said and put her signature at the end of a parchment with a sudden flourish. “But I also want to talk to someone normal before the evening’s insanity begins.”

“Ah,” Eist only said and gazed through the window. It was a beautiful autumn and the air was still warm, with no trace of winter chill to it. “Have you decided which of the esteemed lords you’re going to pick?”

She sent him a warning look, but he had already developed some immunity to it.

“You can’t really blame them for trying, can you? Who in their right mind wouldn’t try to woo the Lioness of Cintra?”

“I wouldn’t call what they seem to be doing _wooing,_ ” Calanthe said and furiously crossed out a line on the page she was reading. “Whipping out their blades and comparing the sizes sounds more like it.”

Eist almost choked on his drink and risked a glance in her direction just in time to witness Calanthe’s self-satisfied smirk.

“I take it you weren’t impressed by their… blades?” he asked with a carefully innocent impression. “More daggers than swords, was it?”

She only let a vague hum. Eist turned back towards the window, and whatever he saw there made him turn philosophical.

“Of course, one can never judge a warrior just by the size of his weapon. Me, I’ve always said that skill and proficiency are more important than a fancy sword.”

Calanthe’s reply came after a moment. If Eist turned, he might have seen the raised eyebrow and a faint blush creeping up her neck as she intently stared at the letter in her hands.

“Don’t push it,” Calanthe finally said. “Or I will think you’ve been planning to join the line of fools queuing up for my hand.”

“Oh, I would be tempted to do that, if I only thought I had any chance,” he said, absentmindedly, as he watched a goat run straight into a rose bush in the garden below.

It was the lack of reply that made him realize what he’d just said, and he turned to find Calanthe staring at him.

“It was a joke,” he explained, although he wasn’t really sure of that. “I believe my jokes only work if you can see my face. And, alas, I have been distracted by the goat. Tell me, Calanthe, do you like your roses?”

  
  


*

  
  


He still proposed to her during the feast, in front all the people, just to see the surprised look on her face. But he did it with a deep bow and a teasing smile, to make sure she knew he expected the rejection. The corners of Calanthe’s mouth twitched as she took a moment to compose herself before gently turning down his advances.

He expected that she would reject every other suitor asking for her hand. What he did not expect, however, was the relief he felt when she did. His first reaction was bewilderment – then, the surprise slowly turned to annoyance, because for all the women in the world, he was apparently beginning to fall for the one whom he could never have.

The uncomfortable realisation made him stay away from Cintra for the next few months. But, as not to offend the queen – or at least that’s what he told himself – they stayed in touch via letters. Their correspondence, mostly businesslike at first, quickly turned more personal, and it didn’t took long before Eist had to admit to himself that his interest in the queen of Cintra was not strictly political. In fact, it was anything but political, because he felt the matter – whatever matter that was – would be much easier if she was _just_ Calanthe, and he was _just_ Eist. Still, neither could help the position they were born into, so there was nothing much left to do. Except writing letters and continuing to meet to discuss agriculture, taxation and sea currents.

  
  


*

  
  


The snow had melted and the sea currents had calmed when he visited Cintra again. He accompanied king Bran on official business, and Cintra was actually the first stop on their journey up along the coast. There was a banquet later that evening – nothing fancy, but it was still a tedious social gathering that he had to suffer through. Bran was sitting at Calanthe’s right side, entertaining her with a story about a recent whale hunting. Eist was sitting on the opposite, with Pavetta separating him from the queen.

Pavetta was quickly approaching her eleventh birthday, and she seemed a very curious and intelligent child. She asked him to tell her stories about the places he’d seen, and then about Skellige in particular, which he was more than eager to do.

“The hills are covered in grass so green that it almost looks like an emerald sea,” he was saying, and Pavetta listened to him with her chin resting on her hand, her elbow propped on the table. “The coast is a rugged cliff, but as you move towards the heart of the isles, through the woods so old and dark some people say they grew from ancient magic, the landscapes slowly change. We have lakes so clear that you can take a boat and row to its middle, and you can still see the bottom. It’s a harsh climate, and we don’t grow much – we’ve started with potatoes, recently, but the Islanders do not yet have much experience with growing these. But we have the sea, and she’s kind to us, giving us plenty of creatures to choose from...”

Pavetta hummed and fell quiet for a moment, pondering his words.

“Why do sailors speak of the sea as _her_?” she asked, with genuine interest. “Is it because they love the sea, so it’s easier to talk as if the sea was a woman?”

“That’s certainly true for a large part of them,” Eist said with a smile. “But I, personally, think there’s more to it.”

“Oh?”

“You see, Princess, there’s something about the sea...” he started and trailed off, thinking how to put his feelings into words appropriate for the ears of an eleven-year-old girl. “It’s powerful,” he finally continued. “She often appears deceptively calm, and then unleashes her wrath upon you, and you, for all your knowledge of ships and currents, are utterly helpless and at her mercy. The sea cannot be conquered, because she does not bow to the laws made by men. The sea gives you freedom, but only when she feels like it, and when she doesn’t, she brings you to your knees. A woman can have the same effect on a man.”

Pavetta stared at him, fascinated. Over her head, Eist noticed that Bran and Calanthe had stopped talking and were looking at him, obviously having listened to his speech. Bran was hiding a smile behind his beard and his eyes were twinkling with amusement. Calanthe, on the other hand, was almost staring at him, her eyes widened. He could not gauge her reaction and frantically tried to think back to what he’d just said. Could he have offended her in any way?

“I think I should like to see the Isles very much,” Pavetta declared, oblivious to Eist’s internal panic. “Are you or king Bran planning some official celebrations? Maybe Mother and I could attend?”

She was looking at him expectantly, and he got a hold of himself.

“You know, Princess, I’m sure we’ll be able to figure something out.”

The dinner went on, and Pavetta continued to shower him with questions, which he did not mind in the slightest. He did, however, pay close attention to what he was saying, because if he indeed had managed to upset Calanthe in any way, he did not wish to antagonize her further.

Much, much later, when the banquet had finished and everyone – or almost everyone – had retired, he found himself walking through the castle, taking a scenic route to his chambers. He was only mildly surprised when he bumped into Calanthe in a deserted corridor that was already almost entirely obscured in darkness. And he would never, not in a million years, admit that he noticed that it seemed like she’d been pacing up and down said corridor for some time.

“Your Majesty,” he said and bowed his head. “Have I already told you that you seem to look more and more beautiful every time I see you?”

“Not yet,” she said, smugly, and he was pleased to see that she stepped into the game with him. “I was beginning to think your eyesight has worsened.”

“I can assure you, Your Majesty, I’m in perfect health.”

He looked into her eyes and smiled. She responded with a soft smile of her own, which, for some reason, gave Eist a peculiar sense of achievement.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” she asked and leaned against the wall.

“I did,” he replied, surprised to discover it was actually true. “Your daughter was a great hostess. She’s a wonderful child, and she’ll make a great queen one day.”

Calanthe hummed.

“She truly is a blessing. Even though she spends entirely too much time reading her poetry books,” Calanthe sighed and shook her head. “I worry what goes on in her head, sometimes. Stuffing her brain with fairytales and romance can’t do her any good.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a bit of romance every once in a while,” he replied carefully.

She looked at him, and the corners of her mouth twitched. It wasn’t exactly a smile, it was more of a tired grimace, but at least she didn’t disagree.

“So I’ve heard,” she said, and he must have looked confused, because she added, “earlier today, when you were talking to Pavetta. Have you met her, the woman who can bring a man to his knees, like the sea herself?”

“I might have,” he breathed, not taking his eyes off her.

Calanthe drew a sharp breath.

“And does she reciprocate your feelings?”

“I haven’t told her yet,” he said and took a step closer. _Well, here goes nothing,_ he thought. “I wasn’t sure if she’d welcome my advances.”

He caught her by surprise, and she furrowed her brow.

“Why?” Calanthe demanded.

Slowly, he took another step towards her. They were so close that he could touch her, but she didn’t move away. In the dying light of the torchlight, their shadows melted into one.

“She made a vow to herself not to marry for as long as she can.”

Calanthe’s eyes were dark and wide as she looked at him, weighing her words.

“And you want to marry her?”

“Yes,” he simply said.

“No,” she replied almost immediately, and suddenly they were no longer talking in riddles. “You know it’s a no.”

Against his better judgement, strangely emboldened, Eist pushed forward.

“No, because you vowed not to marry anyone at all, or no, because you are opposed to the idea of marrying me in particular?”

She crossed her arms and stared at his face in silence. Her tongue darted across her lower lip and Eist couldn’t help but follow the movement.

Without inconveniencing himself with excessive thinking, he leaned down and kissed her, softly, and he felt his movements were slow enough that, if he misread the situation, she could move out of her way and maybe even slap him. But she didn’t. Instead, she kissed him back, and took a step in his direction. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she placed her hands against his chest.

The kisses were tentative at first, exploratory, but it didn’t take long before her mouth opened and she pulled at Eist’s doublet, willing him even closer, until he was pressing her tightly against him, and her hands were in his hair, and, gods, had she always smelled so good, and…

Somewhere near them, the torchlight flickered for the last time and died, and the sudden almost complete darkness startled them enough to break apart. Neither made a move to go, though, so they stood there, looking into each other’s faces, trying to make out the other’s expression.

Eventually, when the silence prolonged, Eist allowed himself a small smile, and wondered briefly if Calanthe could see it.

Apparently she could, because she said, in a voice that sounded unusually strained,

“You really are bold.”

“Aye,” he replied, cheerfully. “So I’ve been told.”

“But I still can’t accept your proposal.”

“I know,” he assured her, and Calanthe just looked at him. He kissed her again, just a quick brush of the lips. “I know, and I understand.”

  
  


*

He was actually in Skellige, for once, peacefully eating a hearty breakfast with Bran, Crach and the rest of his family, as one does, when Bran opened a letter with an official-looking seal, frowned and said,

“Did you know we apparently have _pirates_ going around here?”

Eist stopped eating. On his left, Crach nearly choked on his scrambled eggs.

“ _Actual_ pirates?”

“Do you think I would be talking of any fictional?” Bran asked with a raised eyebrow. He then sighed and continued, “And don’t get any ideas – I do not think they are the romantic types on a hunt for a golden chest.”

Crach’s arms sagged.

“They are probably some loose cannons from Nazair. The Trader’s Guild in Verden has registered a considerable influx of money lately, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a smuggling network between these two operating on these waters. It seems to me that someone got greedy.”

“Are they endangering us directly?” Eist asked and wiped his mouth.

“Yes and no,” Bran said. “They are trying to rob our ships, but we’re much too skilled to let that happen. They are a nuisance, though. And I know they’ve sunk at least three Cintrian ships. Calanthe’s been very vocal about her displeasure in her letters. I have to admit, the woman’s vocabulary is impressive.”

Bran shook his head and buttered a piece of bread.

“Do you want me to do something about it?” Eist said, as non-committally as he could muster.

“I would be grateful,” Bran replied, and so the matter was decided.

  
  


*

  
  


“Why, why couldn’t we have been attacked by pirates who prefer to fight their battles on land?” Calanthe asked – rhetorically, no doubt – and took a shuddering breath when the ship rocked again.

Eist tried very hard not to chuckle.

“I imagine pirates become pirates precisely because they are much better equipped to fight sea battles.”

He reached for a bottle of a weak Cintrian ale and poured it into a glass. He offered the drink to Calanthe, but she only shuddered and tightened her grip on the bucket she’d been gripping.

They were sitting in her quarters below the deck of the largest Skelligean warship, returning from what Eist could only describe as a mere sea squabble. The pirates, if one could even call them that, were not expecting a whole armada of experienced sailors unleashing their wrath upon them. They definitely weren’t expecting a very angry Lioness of Cintra.

But, truth be told, neither was Eist.

It had come as a great surprise for him to discover that queen Calanthe, for all her unparalleled bravery and skill as a warrior on solid ground, was a complete and utter landlubber. As soon as the ship began to rock, Calanthe started to mysteriously disappear from her crew’s eyes, only to be found retching into a bucket or, better yet, over the side of the ship. She was hardly alone in this predicament, for at least half of the Cintrian army followed her suit. No one dared to make more than a passing joke about her condition. Queen Calanthe, even sick as a dog, was terrifying – and deadly, which she proved the moment she came within sword’s length to their attackers. It was almost breathtaking, the way she seemed to forget her sea sickness when she kicked an impressive looking red-headed giant over the railing and into the sea.

But then the battle was over, the coast was secured, and Calanthe seemed to focus all her energy on not puking her guts out on her way home.

“Please tell me this storm is going to pass soon,” she almost pleaded, and he felt a sudden swell of affection for her. He promptly tried to crush the feeling before it had the chance to bloom in his chest.

Still, he didn’t have the heart to tell her that the weather they were experiencing not only could barely be called a storm, but was also expected to worsen over the next few hours. He could just about imagine how well she would take it. Instead, he looked around her quarters – simple, narrow and unadorned, typical for a warship, but not really befitting a queen – in search of an inspiration.

“You know,” he said, conversationally. “My nephew insists on convincing me the pirates were on a treasure hunt.”

“Aren’t they always?” Calanthe sighed and closed her eyes.

Eist stole this moment to look at her closely and noticed that she really was terribly pale.

“Well, I would assume so,” he shrugged. “It couldn’t have been a great treasure, though, since a few of our not that impressive trade ships were enough to tempt them and bring them off course...”

“I know what you’re doing,” Calanthe interrupted, not opening her eyes. She took a deep breath. “Trying to distract me from this horrible, _worsening_ storm.”

“Is it working?”

She opened one eye and gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Barely.”

The ship rocked again and Calanthe’s face quickly turned green. Eist had never seen a person turn actually green before, and if he wasn’t so distracted by the need to alleviate her pain, he would be fascinated by the display. Calanthe leaned forward, looking close to fainting, and without much thinking he took hold of her forearms, steadying her in place and trying to ignore how good her soft skin felt against his hands. If there ever was a worse place for romantic advances, he couldn’t think of any.

“Maybe you should lie down,” he suggested, and he knew she was really out of it when she didn’t even protest and let him position her on the bed and cover her with a blanket. He brushed a few loose strands of hair out of her forehead. If she noticed his hand linger there for a moment, she did not say a word.

“Are you certain you don’t want me to get you any herbal concoction from Mousesack?”

She shook her head.

“These remedies of yours only make me feel more sick. I’d rather keep an empty stomach.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

“Try to sleep it off,” he eventually said in a gentle voice. “It always seems to do the trick for me.”

“Fine,” she huffed, but it didn’t sound as threatening as usual. “But you have to distract me with something again. Otherwise the only thing I’ll think about will be this bloody ship...”

The aforementioned ship rocked again, this time more violently. Eist reached out to keep Calanthe from falling out bed at the same moment when she extended her own hand to grab something for support. When she realized she took hold of his hand, she didn’t let go, but instead clung to it with some kind of a grim determination.

“Tell me a story,” she breathed. “Anything, really. Something about the Isles. Something really stupid you did when you were a bairn.” Eist smiled when he heard her try and fail to wrap her tongue around the hard consonants of the Skelligean dialect. “I’m sure you’ve done plenty such things.”

He experimentally squeezed her hand and tried to force his brain into working properly again. Or, at all. Finally, a revelation came to him.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I have actually chased a narwhal once...”

  
  


*

  
  


The hot summer changed into autumn, then winter, then spring. It was sometime after equinox when he found himself in Redania, attending king Vizimir’s wedding. Both him and Bran went, to pay their respects and to finally see the poor soul who agreed to become Vizimir’s bride.

It wasn’t that Vizimir was a bad man; on the contrary, he was honourable and just, and it really was no fault of his that Eist found him so terribly boring, which was an opinion he would never dare to voice out loud.

He could have probably found an excuse not to attend the wedding – not to look far, the storms that ravaged the North Sea during winter were both unpredictable and dangerous – but he knew Calanthe would be there, so he bit his tongue and suffered through a very long and formal wedding ceremony that managed to put half the congregation to sleep.

Thankfully, after the vows had been dutifully exchanged, there was a feast. The food and wine seemed to lift everybody’s spirits, and soon the banquet hall of the Tretogor’s Royal Palace was buzzing with music and laughter. The king’s guests were all sat at one long table, carefully separated from the rest of the crowd that included individuals like a few brought-down aristocrats and aspiring noblemen. Eist found himself nested between Mousesack and Rainfarn of Attre. It was a pleasant company, and he was glad to discuss ships and archery with them. Every now and then, his eyes flickered to Calanthe, who was sat a few seats to the right, listening to something that king Foltest was telling her with a great deal of indignation. She finally caught his gaze and flashed him an almost imperceptible half-smile before she gave her full attention to Foltest.

“They say one wedding brings on another,” queen Meve said philosophically and emptied her third glass of wine. The alcohol seemed to have no effect on her whatsoever. On her right, her husband, king Reginald, had a glazed look in his eyes that suggested that he was a hair’s breadth from falling asleep. Meve looked at him, rolled her eyes and continued. “Who do you think it will be? Sir Rainfarn? Are you planning on taking a wife?”

Rainfarn of Attre just shook his head.

“Even if I wanted to, my queen, my vows forbid me from marrying.”

Meve snorted, and the inelegant sound was enough to attract Calanthe and Foltest’s attention.

“Fair enough. And what about you, Jarl Eist? In all the years you’ve spent at sea, you’ve never met a woman who could catch your eye?”

Deeply aware of the six pairs of eyes fixed on him (seven, if you counted in king Reginald’s dazed look), Eist did his best to remain unfazed. He carefully avoided looking in Calanthe’s direction and gave Meve one of his dazzling smiles.

“It is the sea herself that rules my heart with a steady hand,” he said. “And I was never the marrying type. After all, after you’ve known the sea as your lover, who could compare?”

On Eist’s left, Bran let out a long-suffering sigh.

“He’s been preaching disdain for marriage ever since he turned thirteen, long before he knew the touch of a woman,” he informed everyone. Mousesack choked on his wine. “Isn’t it high time you’ve changed your tune, brother?”

Good-natured teasing followed Bran’s remark, but Calanthe’s side of the table remained suspiciously silent. When Eist risked a glance towards her, he was surprised to find her looking at him with a neutral but obviously fake smile and an inscrutable look in her eyes.

He had no chance to ask her about it, however – not with such a large crowd around them. It was only after a few rounds of dancing and drinking that he felt it was safe enough for them to sneak outside to the Palace’s gardens.

It was relatively quiet outside. The night was warm, but the garden was almost empty. Still, Eist waited until they were a bit farther away from the Palace before he caught Calanthe’s hand and pulled her into the shadows under some lavishly decorated architectural construction.

He kissed her lightly and smiled when she kissed him back and loosely wrapped her arms around his neck. His own hands found their way around her body before finally resting on her back.

“Nicely played, Tuirseach,” Calanthe said, smiling wryly at him. “Working towards your reputation as the lone sea wolf, I see. Who could compare after you’ve taken the sea as your lover, was it?”

“That was not entirely true,” he replied and tightened his grip on her waist, not missing the subtle hitch of her breath. “There is one notable exception to that rule.”

“Is there really?” she asked and the intensity with which she looked into his eyes stirred something warm deep inside his chest.

“There is a woman who took possession of my heart,” he replied seriously and slid the hand that was resting on the small of her back a few inches lower. Calanthe’s eyes widened. “I could imagine giving up the sea for her, if she asked.”

“A woman who would ask that of you is a fool,” Calanthe said, with some difficulty, and he smiled.

“And if I offered?”

“Then you would be a fool,” she replied, but the harshness of her tone was softened by the way she clutched his arm, reaching her finger to scrape at the exposed skin of his neck. “And I never took you for one, Eist.”

There wasn’t much left for him to do, then, except to kiss her. He leaned down to brush his lips against hers, and groaned when Calanthe grasped the side of his neck to keep him in place. It quickly turned frantic, and messy, and they stumbled a bit in the dark, moving even deeper into the shadows. Suddenly he had Calanthe pinned against the wall, warm and melting in his arms, and she was kissing him like there was no tomorrow. One of his hands wandered to rest against her ribs, and he could feel her drumming heartbeat against his palm, and he was sure she could feel his, as well.

They reluctantly broke the kiss when they ran out of air, and for a moment they just stood there, forehead to forehead, still in a close embrace, trying to calm their shortened breaths. Only then did they become aware that the garden was not as empty as they’d previously thought, and that it was only a matter of time before someone stumbled upon them.

Calanthe sighed and moved to kiss him, softly, on the corner of his mouth.

“I would… invite you…,” she said between fleeting kisses, “to follow me… into my chamber…”

At that, he kissed her back, and it took some time before she could continue.

“But there are too many people in this bloody palace,” she finished, a hint of annoyance colouring her tone.

Eist laughed.

“Well, one solution to that issue comes to mind,” he said and squeezed her buttocks. “You could always marry me and share my lodgings with all the rules of propriety still in place.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched.

“I have a counter-suggestion,” she said and kissed him, putting so much fire into her kiss that Eist all but moaned against her mouth.

She moved away, looked into his eyes, finding them dark with desire, and gave him a wicked smile.

“Next time, pick a better spot.”

  
  


*

  
  


The spring was very hot this year. It was as if a magic spell was cast over Cintra, and the town that was usually so busy and bustling with energy was now operating in a lazy haze. People walked slowly, and often stopped to cool themselves down in the shadows; cats were lounging on warm windowpanes and cobblestones; laundry hang in the sun for days, because no one could be bothered to take it down. 

It was impossible to work in this weather, much less govern, and so Eist had succeeded in luring Calanthe out of the castle and out of the city, promising her cool air, peace, quiet and exclusive company. It was one of the rare occasions when she let herself be tempted and Eist counted his blessings. 

They rode out of the city in the late afternoon, and found themselves on an abandoned field about half an hour ride from Cintra. They went alone, and Calanthe led them out of Cintra through a labyrinth of narrow, almost empty streets. They also took care to dress in something that did not immediately scream “royalty”, and Calanthe had chosen a very domestic-looking loose summer dress that somehow seemed to turn her into an entirely different person. Not that Eist minded in the slightest. 

The air was sweet-scented and heavy, and the sun on Eist’s exposed neck was warm, almost uncomfortably so. Not that he was paying much attention, and he wouldn’t want to move and change his position, anyway. He and Calanthe had spent most of the afternoon just laying side by side, talking and enjoying each other’s company after a period of separation. Every now or then, there would be a twist in the discussion that warranted one of them lounging to grab and kiss the other, and it was exactly such a moment. Eist was very busy hovering over his queen, capturing her lips with his, and his hands were kind of living their own life, and she not only let them, but responded in turn… 

Actually, Calanthe was just about to pull up his shirt, and her fingers were dangerously close to the band of his trousers, when a sudden snap of a twig cause them to practically jump apart. Eist grabbed the knife that he always kept on him, and quickly sat up, only to come face to face with an annoyed farm boy. 

They stared at each other for a few moments before the boy’s gaze shifted to Eist’s buttoned down shirt and then to Calanthe, who, thank the gods, had much better reflexes and had managed to turn so that she was currently sat with her back towards the intruder. She was probably unrecognisable, what with her hair in disarray and the white summer dress that she would probably never wear in public, but still, it was fairly obvious what had been happening here. It would be embarrassing even for two completely regular people, but for them, it could very well be a catastrophe. 

A lazy, mocking smile spread across the boy’s face, and Eist glowered at him.

“Having fun, are we?” the boy asked, in an insultingly faux innocent tone, and Eist took a moment to collect himself. It was obvious the pimply brat had no idea who he was smirking at, and that at least was some consolation, but one more comment and Calanthe might get a sudden desire to punch him herself, and that definitely wouldn’t do anyone any good. 

“Fuck off,” Eist politely replied, and the shit-eating grin on the boy’s face got even wider. Thankfully, he was either smart enough or he saw the glimpse of the blade in Eist’s hand, because he took a step back and put his hands in the air. 

“All right, all right, I’m going. Carry on, I won’t tell anyone,” he said and actually _winked_ at them, still not taking the damn smile off his face. 

Eventually, he did go, and Eist kept close eye on him until his retreating back disappeared from view. Only then did he let out a deep breath and sank to the ground next to Calanthe’s legs. 

“Fuck, that was close.”

“Yes,” she agreed, and he was surprised to discover that a deep blush had spread on her neck. “Do you think he recognized us?”

“No, definitely not.” Eist shook his head. “Otherwise, we’d have to kill him.”

It was meant as a joke, and he was thankful that Calanthe seemed to recognize that, because she flashed him a half-smile. Her arms relaxed and after a while she laid on the grass next to him. He took her hand, and she entwined her fingers with his, but the playful mood from ten minutes ago was now gone. 

Still, he was pretty content to stay with her like this and look at the afternoon sky. He gazed at the clouds, their white fluffy shapes barely moving against the stunningly blue backdrop. His eyes flickered to Calanthe’s face a few times, but she was staring at the branches of the tree above them with a strange determination and did not speak a word. 

She did not let go of his hand, though, which he took for a sign that whatever she was mulling over, it probably wasn’t directly related to him. It took about half an hour before she spoke, snapping Eist out of his own thoughts.

“You know, I was thinking,” she said and then stopped for a moment before continuing. “Pavetta is turning fifteen next year.” 

Eist hummed. 

“And I’ve been thinking about who she should marry,” Calanthe continued, seemingly paying him no attention. “What would be best for her. And for Cintra. And I’ve come to a conclusion that what should happen is Pavetta marrying your nephew, Crach.”

Eist nodded, but it took a few seconds before her words fully registered with him. He turned and leaned on his elbow to give her an incredulous look. 

“Crach?” he repeated. 

“Yes,” Calanthe said and turned on her side to face him. “Think about it. It’s a powerful alliance. It would be great for Skelligean diplomacy and trade, should you wish to expand or have it be more profitable. I’m also thinking of Pavetta’s future as a queen here. With Skellige behind her, no one will dare to question her authority, and she won’t have to fight for scrapes of land and a vault of gold as I had to. And Crach, well… If he grows up to be half the man you are, that would still be better than the lot of idiots fighting with each other for Pavetta’s hand,” she finished sincerely. He knew her enough to know she meant it. 

But still, although what she said all made sense, and he was immediately proud that his nephew would amount to that position – the future  _King of Cintra –_ picturing Crach and Pavetta together was, well.  _Disturbing_ was a word that came to mind. 

“Well?” Calanthe asked, impatiently, when he didn’t immediately reply. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a great honour for Crach to be considered in this way,” Eist slowly began. “And if you permit, I would be honoured as well to take this back to Bran and ask for his permission.”

Calanthe narrowed her eyes.

“There’s a _‘_ but’ hidden there somewhere,” she said. 

What he had wanted to say was, ‘ _well, can you imagine Crach and Pavetta being married to each other? Falling in love with each other? Building a family together? I would make sure he would respect her and she’s already the gentlest soul of the Continent. And I’m obviously proud that you’ve chosen my blood over the rest of them. But are you sure?”._

What he said instead was, “No, I am just surprised. I did not realize your plans for Pavetta’s marriage were already so advanced.”

He softened the words with a light smile. Calanthe looked at him for a moment, but eventually accepted his words and her face relaxed. 

“That’s it, then,” she breathed. “We’ve just negotiated a marriage.” 

  
  


*

  
  


Eist realized it wasn’t the most popular opinion, but he had always loved winter. The sea changed in winter – yes, it became more unpredictable, more dangerous, but there was a strange, harsh beauty to the steely grey of the sky, weighing heavily on the dark vastness of the water. Winter smelled different, as well. And there was really nothing more beautiful than a sunny winter morning, when warm puddles of light slowly spread over the frozen ground and the dark night sky turned to red, then pink, then orange, and finally to the purest, clearest blue. 

Still, for all its many assets, winter also had its disadvantages. He mostly spent it in Skellige, and the times when he was able to get away to Cintra were short and far in between. And even in Cintra there was seemingly no peace – the castle was always busiest in the winter season, what with so many people seeking shelter from cold gusts of wind between the thick stone walls. 

But, when the circumstances had arranged so miraculously that he was able to get out of Skellige and into Cintra, and he made the way through the crowd, and suffered through any dinners taking place, then he was able to count on a very warm welcome from the queen, which was fortunate, because the castle was  _bloody freezing_ . 

“I don’t understand,” Calanthe said and laughed. “You’re so warm, all the time. Are you really that cold?” 

Eist grunted and buried himself deeper into the covers, pulling her with him. She let out a sigh of satisfaction into his neck. 

“I’m no stranger to harsh weather conditions, cold included” he reminded her and she hummed. “And I don’t mind it, for the most part. But now, when I’m home, freezing my balls off is somehow not a situation I welcome.”

Calanthe looked up at him with a strangely soft look in her eyes, and then hid her face back in the crook of his neck, planting a lingering kiss there. 

“There is this thing they are rumoured to have in Aretuza,” he said and tightened his grip on her waist. “It’s called central heating.”

Calanthe all but giggled, then, and he thought up to that point he had never heard her make that sound. 

“But that’s not what appeals to me most,” he carried on philosophically. “You see, I heard they have a special system of pipes with hot water hidden below the floor. It warms the stones. Just imagine, heated floors...” 

She propped herself on the elbow and looked into his face. 

“Well, I’m sorry to say we don’t have such luxuries in Cintra,” she said solemnly, but her eyes were twinkling. “And I am also sorry to report that the fire in the fireplace is dying. But I think that I might have come up with another idea how to keep you warm...” 

She slid close to him, and that was enough to push engineering-related matters out of Eist’s mind. 

\- 

When he opened his eyes, he noted with faint alarm that the sky outside has already turned grey. 

“Shit!” Calanthe whispered next to him. “We overslept!”

She practically leapt out of bed and then froze when she heard a faint knock on Eist’s door. It was probably a maid coming to light the fire and gods only knew how she would react to seeing them together, at this hour, in a state of undress. 

The maid did not wait for permission to enter – she was probably used to people still snoring when she lit the fire, anyway – and the doors had started to open when Eist finally regained his senses. 

“Stop!” he exclaimed, and tried not to look at Calanthe who had clutched her dressing gown close to her chest and was tip-toeing towards the hidden exit. “Don’t come in yet! I’m… not decent,” he finished, lamely, and Calanthe threw him an incredulous look. 

“Oh.” The maid was surprised, but she stopped. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll come by later, shall I?”

“Yes, thank you,” Eist said with so much dignity as he could muster. 

The door closed. Eist put his face in his hands and tiredly rubbed his eyes. 

“I am growing really tired of this,” he said and let out a frustrated sigh. 

“Which part of _this_ do you mean?” Calanthe asked, and there was a strange note in her tone that made him open his eyes and turn his face towards her. 

She had put on her dressing gown, but hadn’t left the room yet. Instead, she was looking at him with her brow furrowed and her arms crossed. 

“Of the hiding part,” Eist clarified. “Of always having to pretend we are just talking, or that we had been sitting five feet apart the whole time before someone walked in, or that there is nothing going on between us except for some letters and official talks.”

“How would you want us to carry on, then?”

There was a warning note in her tone that Eist would have noticed if he wasn’t so frazzled himself. 

“I don’t know,” Eist admitted. “Something more official would be nice. If you allowed me to court you...”

“No,” Calanthe immediately said, as she already had said a few times. Usually, it had been enough for Eist to drop the subject. Today, it only succeeded in annoying him. 

“Oh, that’s it, then? That’s supposed to end the discussion?” 

He got out of bed and thankfully found a pair of his pants that were laying discarded on the floor. Arguing about a relationship’s direction was not a feat that could be undertook when one party was naked, but the other, most emphatically, was not. 

“Well, what else is there to discuss?” Calanthe fired back, her eyes hardening. “Besides, I didn’t exactly hear you complain last night.”

“That was different,” Eist disagreed, and she huffed. 

“Oh, really? The morning after always seems to be different, isn’t it? Is it the harsh confrontation with reality?”

“No, it’s the fact that every morning we have to turn into people who are supposed to be strangers to each other!”

“You knew from the very beginning that was the way it would be,” she reminded him. “You knew I wouldn’t marry you.” 

Somehow, that stung. Maybe it was because she didn’t add “immediately” or “then”. The way she phrased it, it seemed like she was taking all of their carefully constructed relationship and throwing it into his face. 

“Aye,” Eist said, suddenly tired. “Maybe I knew that...”

“Maybe?”

“… and it’s not working for me anymore,” he finished with a strange finality. 

Calanthe’s eyes widened, and then her face turned very red. Eist knew he had about three seconds to start talking before she would storm out of the room and probably never return again. 

“I want to marry you, and you keep saying no. And that’s actually not the problem,” he said, crossing his arms. “If you don’t want to be tied by marriage again, that’s fine by me. If you don’t want to marry me because you don’t want me to be titled as king, I understand that as well, although by this point you have to, you just have to know that I would never take your crown from you. But I can’t do this sneaking around any longer. I want to be with you, and preferably in a way that doesn’t tarnish your reputation, and I don’t want to always hide our relationship in the shadows.”

He paused. Her face had lost a bit of that red hue, but she was still looking at him with wide eyes, standing very still. 

“I’m not asking you to marry me tomorrow,” he continued, softer this time. “I’m not even asking you to promise to marry me at all. But I need to know that you are as serious about this, about _us,_ as I am. That you have a vision, any vision, of a future in which you and I are together without one of us jumping to our feet because a scullery maid might catch us.” 

He was met with ringing silence. His arms sagged and he felt his stomach drop to somewhere below his knees. Dejected, he dropped his eyes to the floor. He was still wearing nothing but his underwear, and he was beginning to feel cold. He noticed the hair on his arm stand. 

He just began to think how to get out of this room with some last shreds of dignity left – what would be worse, parading through Cintra in his underwear or the humiliation of picking up his clothes in front of a very still Calanthe? - when a movement caught his eye. 

Calanthe finally moved and crossed the room to where he was standing. She was so close to him that their faces practically touched. Eist didn’t dare to make a move himself – he just watched, mesmerized, as she raised her hands to gently put them on both sides of his face. 

“I love you,” she said in a hoarse voice. He drew a sharp breath, but before he could say something, she continued. “And I can’t tell you when, but I promise that I will marry you someday. When it will be possible. If you can wait for me.”

“I would wait my whole lifetime for you,” he breathed and she gave him a tearful smile. 

“When Pavetta becomes queen,” she continued, “and the alliance with Skellige is secured, and Cintra is stable, then I’ll be free. Or, freer, at least.”

“And what will you do?”

“I don’t know yet.” And there it was again, that vulnerable, cautious smile. “Jump onto a ship and run away with you?”

“You’ll get seasick,” he protested without thinking, and she laughed and leaned forward. His arms reflexively moved to wrap around her.

“We’ll find an island,” she joked and moved to rest her forehead against his arm. “We’ll breed sheep.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure you’d love the smell,” he replied and hid his smile in her hair. 

“Either way,” she said quietly. “I promise you’ll be the one to see me old and wrinkled, when my hair is grey and my hands are no longer able to hold a sword. How’s that for a vision of a future?”

He pulled away just enough to be able to look into her eyes.

“Sounds perfect to me,” he said and kissed her, and for a moment, nothing else needed to be said. 

  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> couple points:  
> *special thanks and a whole ocean of appreciation to karadeniz who was the first reader and my emotional support witch 💐 
> 
> 1) Have I just dedicated >10K to writing romance despite having 0 personal experience of it? Why yes, and if u think that explains a lot, it probably does *finger guns*  
> 2) No I didn't have a beta, but if you like the fic and have too much time of your hands and want to polish my grammar, you will have my eternal gratitude  
> 3) I had to kill Roegner off very early on bc I started to like him too much  
> 4) If you've reached this point, thank you so much for reading!!! You're the best ;) 
> 
> 4*) Polakom chciałabym szczególnie powiedzieć, że chociaż serial mi się podobał, musiałam jakoś wyprzeć ze świadomości przeczytane książki, żeby się do tego zabrać. Nie wiem, czemu. Po polsku raczej pisać do fandomu się nie odważę, to jakaś taka bariera, po angielsku szło o wiele łatwiej. Tym niemniej postaci, przynajmniej w mojej głowie, są takim dziwnym miksem filmowo-serialowym. Jak wyszło, ocenić musicie sami. Trzymajcie się ciepło!


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